Fully Exposed
by Ethereal-Journey
Summary: Another detective's death hits too close to home for Jim Brass.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **_CSI and its related characters belong to CBS, Alliance Atlantis, and the show's creators; no copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N: **_A hearty thank you goes out to beaujolais, for the encouragement and input; including the much needed virtual slaps upside the head to get me motivated. Any mistakes are mine and mine alone._

**Fully Exposed**

Jim Brass stood there, amongst the stray weeds and overgrown grass. The body lay hidden, but the crime that had been inflicted on her lay fully exposed. That's how the highway patrol officer found her; disposed of along the side of a desolate road—like trash tossed out of a moving vehicle. The officers had contained the scene then had called him and the criminalists in to process it. Jim was the first one there; he usually was the first one to a homicide. He had barely made it down the embankment when the squeal of brakes and the crunching of gravel signaled the arrival of another vehicle. He looked up and shook his head as David descended from the van, kit in hand.

Every night for the past week or so it had been nonstop, from one crime scene to the other with no rest in between—at least not for him. Through it all he had tried in vain to fight past the pain and fatigue that had settled deep within his bones.

Squatting down near the body he fought the urge to keep his nerve, that's what he could never get used to: dealing with dead bodies. She had once been beautiful, young, full of prospects, and with so much ahead of her. Yet, she was devoid of all that now—her life had been brutally taken from her—that's where Las Vegas' finest stepped in, to offer a voice to those unfortunate enough who couldn't speak for themselves anymore. Jim shone his flashlight over the length of her garishly exposed body, grimacing at the way she had been left there for others to discover. Silently cursing to himself, he rubbed his hand across his face, hoping to rub out the sleep that weighed heavily on his eyelids.

Nightmares always followed a case such as this and much to his chagrin they were happening more and more frequently.

He was running on empty.

Earlier that morning… Jim had stepped out of the interrogation room in a sour mood, after the conclusion to a rather arduous case from the night before. In need of a dose of fresh air he walked out into the parking lot toward his vehicle, seriously contemplating the thought of abandoning his shift in favor of the cold and empty bed waiting for him at home. But wouldn't you know it, a ringing cell phone—his mobile—scattered that thought on the wind.

Thus here he was, displaying a fake smile when David looked over his clipboard at him. Straightening up, he left him and his assistant to work while he strolled a few feet away from the victim, continuing to survey the ground for further evidence. He deeply sighed when three slender fingers adorned with bright red nail polish—presumably still attached to a hand—caught the beam from his flashlight and stood out among the dead weeds. "David, I may have found another vic over here," Jim called out.

A break in the cloud cover let the full moon fall on the rest of her, surrounding her in an ethereal glow and laid to rest his suspicions. Jim swallowed and looked away in outrage at whoever had inflicted the physical wounds on her face. There was extensive bruising on her cheeks and around each eye; she had also sustained a broken nose at the hands of her attacker.

Jim then moved the beam of light down to her chest and froze.

A fragmented memory flashed across his mind and he closed his eyes trying to recollect where he had seen that gold heart-shaped pendant before. Though, it ended up being just that—a fleeting memory—when he not only caught sight of the piece of jewelry encircling her neck, but of a hand imprint as well. Once again he looked away and decided he had seen enough, so he clicked off his flashlight.

"Looks like a double…" A familiar voice traveled down the steep incline and broke into Jim's thoughts. The rest of the cavalry had arrived. He observed as Gil and Sara conversed for a few seconds and she nodded, then Gil left her side, most likely to grab their gear. Sara made her way down to the crime scene and Jim went over to her and offered up a helping hand but she brushed it away with a tiny smile.

After Grissom had made his own way down the embankment, Jim took a couple of steps back to let them work. They processed the scene in their usual fashion, only speaking to each other and to him when something caught their attention.

The night was quiet, as such was the attitude between them all.

After a few minutes Grissom turned, taking note of the displeasure on Jim's face but ignored it in favor of his work. "Did you find anything that'll help to identify these women?"

Shaking his head, the detective raised his hand. "Well for now, that's Jane Doe number one and that's Jane Doe number two. Here is what I do know: HP said a driver had some car trouble, so he pulled over to the side of the road to check it out. Unfortunately for him he also stumbled across our crime scene."

"Rather odd, you'd expect they would have some sort of identification on their person."

Jim flexed his left hand and glanced around furtively. "I've only had a chance to look around. Besides, with a crime scene like this, I think it would be best to preserve its integrity."

Grissom lowered his camera and looked over at his good friend. "You impress me, Jim."

"Look, at this stage I'm very tired." Jim scratched the nape of his neck in frustration. "So, I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or something else."

A stiff breeze blew through the tall grass as both men locked eyes again.

"Guys… I found something on our second vic. I've got two cards which she appears to have tucked away in her waistband; got a credit card and a DL issued to…" Sara's voice trailed and her eyes widened slightly. She stood and turned to face Jim. He looked at her, trying to discern what kind of emotion had set into her features.

"Sara?" Grissom asked.

Ignoring him, Sara approached Jim and looked into his eyes. "I think you'd better take a look at these."

He returned the look and detected a hint of anger and sadness in them then she broke eye contact. Jim extended his hand after placing his white handkerchief in it and took the offered cards.

Another breeze whistled through the overgrown grass and kicked up some dust, which softly pelted his cheek as he stared at the plastic ID in his palm. He had no idea how long he had been focused on the card when he felt a hand on his coat sleeve. Sighing softly and at war with his emotions, he looked at a distant point on the horizon for a few minutes and lost himself in the sea of darkness. Without a single word, he handed the evidence back over to Sara and trudged up the incline to his vehicle.

Grissom came up behind her and they both shared looks.

"Sara, what is it?"

"Well, um, our second vic was a detective and from the information on the ID. She worked homicide during the day." Sara shared the piece of information with her supervisor and he seemed a little confused.

She studied his placid features a few seconds longer then realization hit her: he wasn't aware of the connection Jim had shared with the woman.

"What's his connection with her?" he asked, turning away from the sight of his retreating friend.

Sara's reaction was to blink twice, over the similarity of the thoughts which were going through her head. She managed another look at the homicide detective, who seemed to have been consumed by the anger of the senseless crime which had been committed.

She switched gears and placed both cards into a plastic evidence bag then resumed her duties.

Her supervisor's persistence intruded into her private thoughts yet again: "Sara? What's Jim's connection with our second vic? If this is to have any bearing on the investigation then I suggest I'd be notified before Sheriff Burdick learns of this, and literally hunts Jim down so he can recuse himself."

"Well, besides her being one of the best officers within the department, Jim and her were very close." Sara paused, and her next statement stemmed out of annoyance with him, for not being privy to what was going on with the people he considered his family, "Grissom, he's your friend and always has been, even before I moved out here. Why don't you ask him?"

Grissom lowered his camera again and regarded the advice. Sara had a point; he always found it difficult to connect with his friends on a personal level. "I suppose you're right. Let's get this crime scene processed for now."

They did, though Sara was worried; she had never seen Jim react so strongly such as he had a couple of minutes ago. There had been a few cases that had impacted him on a personal level but this seemed different.

**—————**

Jim sat and stared out of the windshield for several minutes then shifted in the seat when the radio in his car crackled to life. He listened with half an ear at the broadcast being relayed to any cruiser in the vicinity of Easton Avenue: a B&E with tragic results, from the information received via nine-one-one dispatch. The radio went quiet, only his breathing and heart rate sounded loudly in his ears.

Inevitably, those quilt ridden thoughts invaded his mind as he continued to stare out into the darkness beyond.

He would've preferred to have been summoned out to the B&E instead of this crime scene. Anything would've been better than discovering the identity of the other murder victim. Even in death she deserved better than being discarded the way she was, but at least she had been able to escape the despair and pain inflicted on her by the hands of her murderer.

A rage he hadn't felt in years coursed through his body and he gripped the steering wheel with such ferocity, that he grunted when a cramp traveled into his left wrist. Jim wasn't about to let go; the pain kept him in the moment but he didn't want to be here, there was just too much frustration and anguish inside of him. And he wasn't about to display an ounce of weakness in front of his colleagues, so he sat in his car until the conflicting emotions subsided a bit.

He knew what his next step was: handing over the investigation to another homicide detective and officially designating himself hands off. That was going to be difficult, after all, two women were dead and one of them had been a cop… she had also been a very good friend.

It was an extremely disheartening thing to lose one of their own and a case such as this demanded the entire police department work together, to bring the perpetrator to justice.

This time though, it was deeply personal.

Eyes closed and fists balled up in anger, he jumped slightly when someone tapped on the window. Jim identified the person who had intruded into his thoughts and sighed. Somehow he knew that Gil Grissom's presence there would be to remind him that he was too close to the case. He expected no less from the scientist, but that didn't stop him from being a little annoyed.

Another impatient tap on the car's window, and Jim signaled Grissom to step back so he could join him outside.

"Are you and Sara done with processing the scene?"

Grissom studied him for a minute and sensed a pent up rage, thinly veiled below the surface.

"The elements beat us to the majority of the evidence, however, I suspect the victim's bodies will offer more than the crime scene was able to."

Jim looked over the man's shoulder as David and his assistant wheeled the bodies into their van. Another gust of wind howled through the chilly desert night and the detective shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"Sara and I are done here." Grissom glanced over to his side and watched her for a few seconds as she stowed away the evidence into the back of the SUV. "Jim, is there anything you'd like to add?"

"I told you all I know. There are no witnesses and it doesn't surprise me that the scene would be somewhat compromised." Jim sidestepped the question, by only offering up what he already knew concerning the crime scene.

"Jim, I need to know what your involvement with this detective was before I proceed—"

"Well, this isn't the time or the place to discuss this, is it? I'm also well aware of what I need to do."

"I hope for your sake you do," Grissom said, causing Jim to smirk in annoyance. "We'll handle this case delicately, but I still need to be informed of how you're connected to her."

"Gil, she and I were close but that was several months ago. I _do_ suggest you treat this case delicately, or you'll have the entire department on your ass if you don't. She was a good detective and very well respected."

"Are you sure about the entire department? Or are you speaking about yourself? Look, you sound biased, what about the other woman that was found with her?"

Jim let the question go unanswered—an argument wasn't something he wanted to get himself into right now. Grissom on the other hand, braced himself for a defensive remark.

"This bastard murdered two women and one happened to be a cop, you better believe some of my guys will take this personally." He stepped forward slightly; the comment had only served to make his blood boil. "Oh and, don't you say I'm being biased. Please find out the identity of the other woman. I'd like to know what her connection was with Detective Tobin." Jim opened the car door and looked into his friend's eyes. "I need to get out of here since there are a few things I have to get squared away then I'll be turning the case over to another detective."

Grissom reached out and placed his hand on the car door, impeding the homicide detective's departure. "This discussion isn't over, Jim."

"It is for now," he answered, and tilted his head to the side, urging the scientist to back off. "Process the evidence, figure out what went wrong and if possible, find out who killed them."

"Sound advice, but I know how to do my job, Brass." Grissom took his hand off the door and stepped back.

"Then why are you still standing here? Just let me know what you and Sara find out."

Jim slammed the car door shut and started the engine. He sat in the vehicle for a few seconds and watched the criminalist walk away. Finally putting the car into gear, he made it back onto the blacktop and sped off toward the familiarity of the P.D.

The next few hours would prove rather difficult for the homicide captain.

**oOoOo**

The Las Vegas Police Department was a bustle of activity and it would never cease to be that way. As usual, a few uniformed officers and fellow detectives greeted Jim with a customary nod of their heads as he strolled into the building.

He knew precisely whom he wanted to head this investigation, since he was relinquishing the lead. Stepping into the officer's bullpen, he scanned the room and took note of some of the detectives occupying their desks, but no sign of the man he wanted to see. He didn't want to walk the entire length of the building looking for Detective Vega and decided to page him from his office instead.

Jim turned to leave and hesitated near the doorway—there was something holding him back from taking another step. It was the sudden thought that one particular desk would forever remain unoccupied—by the woman he had shared a deep friendship with—that sent a pang of remorse through him. He was lost in thought when he left the room and walked the few feet to his office, where he sank heavily into his desk chair while massaging the nape of his neck.

He didn't register the soft knock on his office door at first, and the second time around he looked up to see a concerned face staring back at him. Clare always dropped by during the course of his shift, to hand off any personal messages and she also took care of any requests he had. He didn't have a need for a 'personal assistant' as he often referred to her, but she insisted it wasn't such a big deal.

And right now, he actually welcomed the intrusion.

"I have those reports you requested, Captain."

With tired eyes he observed as she arranged the files in a neat stack on the corner of his desk. "Thank you, Clare."

"You're welcome, Sir." Clare stood there then finally added, "I um, heard about tonight's discovery."

"Yeah, I'm sure the entire department knows…"

"There's a minor problem, Captain."

"And that is?" Jim asked, full of curiosity.

She fidgeted under his intense stare for a few seconds. "She was here several days ago…" Her voice trailed off, and she locked eyes with her boss.

"Is there something I need to be aware of?"

"Tobin—she was here several days ago. Well, I saw her sitting over at Vartann's desk, and he filed a report on her behalf."

"I need that report on my desk immediately. That could impact heavily on the investigation." This new development had sapped some more energy out of him. He should've felt elated, but somehow this news sounded ominous to him.

Clare nodded her head and mulled over her next comment but was interrupted before she spoke up.

Sara framed herself in the doorway, and had cleared her throat, "May I come in?"

Clare glanced over and smiled then turned her attention back to her boss. "Will that be all, Captain Brass?"

"That's it for now. Get me that report ASAP," he managed to say and stood up with a tired grin on his face, directed at Sara.

"…Sir, some advice; speak with someone. It would appear something about this case has you preoccupied."

Sara's eyebrows shot up at the familiarity in tone, with which this young woman addressed him.

"Well, your advice is duly noted, Clare." Jim watched as she excused herself.

Sara turned to him with a questioning stare. "Did I interrupt something?"

"No. Ah, please, have a seat." He gestured for her to sit and he lowered himself back into his own chair. "What is it?"

"She's right you know. Talk to me, Brass. How long did the two of you…?"

"I really would rather not discuss this right now. I have to ask though; did Gil send you along to make sure I'm fine?"

"No, I came as a friend. But, I will add that he's a little worried that this will hinder the investigation."

Jim looked away and then settled his blue eyes on her face again. Answering her would be difficult; he always kept his personal life to himself, except this time he knew without being reminded, that it had a tremendous bearing on this criminal investigation.

"Sara, we had a history her and me. The one thing I can't seem to get out of my head is the fact I didn't recognize her out there." Jim wiped his face with both hands. "There was something going on and she wouldn't let me in."

"Brass, this wasn't your fault."

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

The desk phone rang and he broke eye contact with her.

"Captain Brass."

Sara looked up into his face and watched as the detective closed his eyes, and tensed his jaw. She grew concerned and recognized the familiarity of those emotions… anger and confusion.

"Who's this? Listen to me, we can…" He slammed the phone back onto its cradle, and Sara flinched.

"Brass?" She was more than just concerned now; more like startled by the sudden burst of emotion from him.

"This investigation just became personal," Jim said, with a very heavy sigh.

Just as she was about to speak up, he held a palm up to stop her. He got on the phone and asked for Detective Vega to be summoned to his office immediately; something he had held off in doing when he had taken a seat behind his desk. After speaking for a few minutes on the phone, he settled back into his seat and cursed under his breath.

Several seconds later Sara thought it was safe to speak up again, "Brass, what's going on?"

"The perp in this case just introduced himself, and his exact words to me were: _'There will be more'._ This has definitely taken a turn for the worse." Jim sat there with a pained expression in his eyes.

**oOoOo**

The crime lab was also brimming with its share of activity that night. Whoever said that criminals preferred to stay indoors during the chilly months, preceding and during the winter season should've had their theory supported by more evidence than was used. Besides, this was Vegas—the temperature dropped in the evenings, even when the Metro and surrounding area happened to be baking in the rays of the sun during the day.

Gil Grissom always argued the matter of solid evidence when building a case, but this double homicide wasn't offering much hope in the way of that. He had gone over the bodies himself, gathering as much information as he could from the story each of them told him—by way of the wounds and anything else which stood out. The rest would be up to the resident medical examiner: Albert Robbins, and whatever he managed to glean from his autopsies of each of the victims.

It was obvious to Grissom that they had gone through a terrifying experience at the hands of their murderer. And even though he was thought of as being detached from his investigations, he still had a heart, and every single case he had dealt with left a little scar behind. This was no different, and it was made all the more important when the second body was discovered to be that of a detective, who he no doubt had worked alongside with when she was still alive.

He stood back and gazed a few seconds longer at both of their bodies as they each lay motionless on the cold hard steel tables, exposed to the bright fluorescent lights overhead. Was it out of sadness or something some other emotion that caused him to bow his head and shake it subtly? He resigned himself to the fact that this crime was just another senseless act.

It was up to him and Sara to solve the case; in the end offering the souls of these two women a much needed rest.

"Mr. Grissom, are you done processing the bodies?"

He was a bit startled by the familiar voice over his shoulder, and turned. "Yes, of course, David."

"Good. I'll be doing the autopsy on your Jane Doe, and Doc will take care of um, Detective Tobin."

"Page me if you two find anything of interest."

"Okay."

Grissom responded with a nod of his head and left. He walked the length of the crime lab and handed off each piece of evidence he had gathered from the bodies to each of the lab's experts, adding instructions that they be handled with top priority. Somehow—as he walked down the hallway to his office—he couldn't get out of his head that a case such as this only seemed destined to get worse. No sooner had he rounded his desk, when Sara stepped slowly into the room behind him, with an odd expression on her face.

"Sara, is everything all right?"

"I have some important news concerning this case that you need to be aware of."

Grissom tilted his head and raised one eyebrow; he braced himself for the other shoe to drop. Another voice floated into the room and an exasperated look crossed his features as he continued to stare into her eyes.

"Let me handle this, Sara." Jim slowly made his way next to the chair she occupied and slid a couple of sheets of paper over the desk to Grissom.

He looked the detective over for a few seconds and hesitated before turning the documents over.

"Aren't you hands off on this case, Jim?"

"Hey, I can't help it if others don't seem to agree with you," Jim replied, then dropped into the other chair facing the desk. "To answer your question, yes, I'm hands off but I think you need to read through those before I head out the door."

"She filed a TRO on an old boyfriend of hers," Grissom said aloud, more to himself than to the company in the room. "Jim, if the two of you were so close, how is it you weren't aware of the situation?"

"Well, I checked the ex-boyfriend out and you can cross him off your potential list of suspects… apparently he died during an unrelated drug investigation."

Grissom glanced briefly at the older man. "I wonder what other secrets Detective Tobin kept from you."

Jim remained silent and a look of extreme annoyance settled onto his features.

Sara couldn't believe her ears. The tense situation within the office had just grown worse. She expected a remark like that from him, but right now it wasn't what was needed. Jim was going through quite a bit emotionally and she already knew this had only served to drain whatever energy the detective had out of his body. She was angry at Grissom, and this time she wasn't going to sit idly by and let him get away with it.

"Grissom, you have the reports, and Jim has handed the investigation over to Vega. Just leave it at that."

"That still doesn't change the fact that Jim here is still considered a suspect." Grissom looked from her eyes, and into his friend's. There, he admitted to what had been eating at him since finding out about the detective's involvement with the murdered officer.

"Oh, is that what this is about?" Jim leaned forward in the chair, trying to keep his temper from flaring out of control. He was tired and this was beginning to grate on his nerves. "Last time I heard you told Nicky to assume nothing, and here you are thinking I could have done this to these two women. What kind of a man do you really think I am?"

"Brass—"

The detective held up a hand, cutting Sara off then he rose out of the chair. He stepped forward and dropped another sheet of paper on the desk then added some emphasis to it, by slamming his hand on the desktop. "Here is the key piece of evidence that exonerates me from being considered a suspect."

The night shift supervisor flinched, enough for his good friend to take notice. Grissom read the document and confusion flickered across his eyes.

"The suspect called you?"

"Well, it would seem that way, wouldn't it?"

"This is raising some very obvious questions that need to be answered, Jim."

"Ask Sam, I've made him aware of what's going on. I'm too close to this. And that exchange with the perp didn't help me in any way."

"It certainly didn't help you, but it does make solving this case a little more difficult." Grissom let out a deep sigh. "Do we have the makings of a serial on our hands?"

"Not if he's stopped, before he has the opportunity to kill again."

"Oh, I agree with you, but this has really put us under the microscope. If the media get wind that this double homicide might turn out to be the beginnings of a serial killer, then that kind of publicity won't help with our investigation."

"Wait a minute, when did you become so worried about the lab's image? That never seemed to be of importance to you." Jim rested his palms on the desk and tilted his head to the side, challenging Grissom to come up with a good answer.

Grissom seemed at a loss for words and Jim straightened himself back up. They locked eyes once again and the scientist looked away. The lab's image had always been important to him whether anyone knew it or not, this case, coupled with the fact that the evidence was sparse didn't help matters. The integrity of the lab had been tested a few times in the past and he knew this was only a minor setback.

Why then, was the thought nagging him so much?

Jim relented; obviously the man didn't have an answer for everything. "Never mind, talk to Vega and you two do what you do best. Find this guy."

"Jim, wait," Sara finally spoke up, after having to put up with their subtle bickering.

The detective stepped out of the office and added as an afterthought, "I need some air. Gil, I expect to be kept in the loop. I want this bastard to pay for what he did."

"Not very sympathetic now, were you?" Sara looked into her boss's eyes for a few seconds longer then rose out of her own chair.

"And where are you going? We've got some evidence to process."

"A dose of fresh air sounds good. I'll be back shortly."

Grissom pursed his lips together then pinched the bridge of his nose in anger and sighed. The thought occurred to him that he had probably just pushed his long time friend away—including Sara. Once again, he was letting a case take precedence over everything and everyone else.

**—————**

The cool desert air once again proceeded to slap him in the face while off in the distance were the rumblings and flashes of light, signaling the onset of a stormy morning for the city. He stood by his car in the parking lot staring off into space, with hands deep in his pant pockets, and his mind flashed back to the crime scene. _I could've prevented her death… I should've done something. _He swallowed dryly, letting the anger and the sick feelings pass.

There were certain things he was slowly finding out about Erin and it was a painful process, but he had to know. The TRO she had filed was a surprise and slowly he came to the realization that it was the reason she had pushed him away, when he had offered to help her.

Jim's mind traveled back to a time when he had asked her about the past and that had touched a nerve within her; the past was just too painful for her to talk about. So he let it drop, but he never forgot.

A hand came to rest on his shoulder and he turned his head to look into Sara's eyes.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Sure. How are you doing?"

"I came out here because of you, Jim. You seem to be lost."

He looked down at the pavement and shook his head. "No, I know exactly where I am."

"Are you sure?"

He really wasn't sure if he was being truthful with himself. This case, losing Erin, and the anguish further added to the fatigue he carried.

Maybe he _was_ lost.

Jim reached up and gave her fingers a squeeze, "Yeah, I'll be fine. I'm just very tired."

She wasn't buying it though; she knew when to let something like this go. There was so much sadness and anger inside his body that she could practically sense it radiating out. Sara returned the gesture by squeezing his hand.

"Go on home then. Grissom and I got it covered; I'll call you if we get any new developments in the case."

He sighed loudly, and he knew he shouldn't argue the point with her; it was very good advice. Jim flashed a tiny smile at her and nodded his head in agreement.

She stood there long enough to watch him drive out of the parking lot and onto the deserted street. Another gust of wind sent a chill down her spine and she stuck her hands deeper into her jacket pockets. After several minutes of being lost in thought concerning the investigation, the emotional turmoil Jim was in, and a feeling that he wouldn't come away unscathed in the aftermath, Sara turned around then disappeared back inside the building.

**To be continued…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Eventually, the fast-moving storm clouds opened up as Jim slowed down at a traffic signal. At that time of the morning the streets seemed deserted and he felt so isolated. Then again, nothing at this point would help ease the emotions that were seething underneath his tough exterior. The tables had suddenly turned and Jim was lost and very alone, but most importantly he felt angry at himself for failing to recognize Erin at the crime scene.

They had shared more than just a close friendship; she had listened to him when he was having a difficult time getting through a rough night and he had been there for her, when she needed him the most. But for the past several weeks their closeness had shown signs of strain. He blamed it entirely on himself but she refused to let him take the full load of the guilt. Never did he give much thought to her past coming back to haunt her. She did her best to avoid his questions and after some time he let it go; that was something he would always feel guilty about having done for as long as he lived.

Jim closed his eyes briefly, and became aware that he was deluding himself into thinking he would be okay. Sara had picked up on that in the parking lot during their conversation. He didn't expect, nor want anyone to go out of their way to help him get through this.

He knew people had their breaking points. He just hadn't reached his yet and he hoped he never would.

The light changed color and Jim let his sedan slowly cruise through the intersection. His cell phone rang causing him to catch his breath; he looked at the tiny screen and frowned at the familiarity of the number.

"Is the insomnia gnawing at you again?"

Jim smiled slightly at the sound of her laugh.

"_Well, good morning to you too, detective."_

He smiled again then sighed. Jim certainly wasn't expecting a call from her. It was a welcomed interruption though, at least for the next few minutes the sound of her voice would keep those recurring thoughts at bay.

"_Horrible morning isn't it?"_ she asked, after getting no response from him.

"Oh, I don't know. I call this a cleansing type of rain."

"_What's there to cleanse? Vegas isn't called Sin City for nothing." _Another heavy sigh, then her voice dropped in pitch, _"How are you doing, Jim?"_

"I'm fine, just headed home after a long night."

"_I heard… I'm so sorry,"_ she said softly, voice laden with emotion. _"I got a call from Grissom. He asked me to help out with the case, when I show up to work later today. It seems he's maxed out on overtime."_

Jim remained quiet. He really had no idea what to say, besides the obvious. "Thank you," he whispered. He stared out of the windshield, keeping his eyes focused ahead of him and on the slick street. The always stoic homicide captain was dealing with a wound so deep; it would take him a long time to heal. Maybe he needed to be left alone to sort through his pain.

Until then, the nightmares would plague him for an unforeseen period of time.

"_Talk to me Jim,"_ she intruded into his dark thoughts.

"Not much to say, Cath. She's gone, and there isn't anything I can do to change that."

She let out a deep sigh upon hearing him say that. How many times had she heard that from others who had lost someone very important in their lives? Catherine had even said that to herself, after Eddie's death.

There were a few things she picked up over the phone about him: he was calm and collected on the outside, but on the inside she knew he was at war with his emotions. And he was too stubborn to let anyone in.

"_Well, don't take matters into your own hands."_

"I promise I won't. Besides, I don't have the strength to attempt something like that," he replied, with his own heavy sigh.

He knew what she was trying to do, and this time he really was telling her the truth. He had a lot on his mind to deal with and dispensing with his own personal justice would have repercussions on whatever remained of his career, and on the rest of his life. For now, he was on the outside looking in and he knew that was the only thing he could do.

"_Listen if you need anything, I'm only a phone call away."_

"Okay. But I already knew that."

"_Get some sleep, Jim."_

"Thanks Cath. You do the same."

He closed the phone after she hung up. The sound of Catherine's voice had done more than he thought it would, it had also managed to clear his mind a bit. One thing was certain: no one knew or could imagine what he was feeling when he pulled into the driveway of his darkened house. Perhaps a stiff drink then a few hours of sleep like she advised would shave off the guilt, and frustration he knew would be there until—in his own way—he let Erin go.

The rain was cold and it felt good on his skin when he exited his car and walked slowly to the front door of his house. It helped cleanse away some of his pain. No one stirred in the surrounding homes, the neighbors knew he lived amongst them but the hours he kept never helped him get well acquainted with them. In some ways he preferred that, but a life of living alone did have its drawbacks.

For instance, coming back to an empty home after a long night such as this wasn't the easiest thing to do.

Jim took one last look behind him then stepped inside. He walked the length of the hallway, not bothering to turn on any lights and went into the kitchen. He slipped off his necktie, gun holster, and cuffs then placed everything on top of his jacket on a nearby bar stool. That drink he needed sounded good right about now, so he grabbed an unopened bottle of Glenfiddich then hesitated by thinking over his choice of alcohol. If he was about to drown himself in a bottle of liquor it called for the strong stuff. Maybe this would help him through those flashbacks and the guilt he was still experiencing about the crime scene.

Bottle in one hand and a small whisky glass in the other; he slowly made his way into the living room and dropped himself into his comfortable wingback chair. Pouring himself two fingers worth of the scotch, he drank and took pleasure in the heat that spread down his throat and into his rain chilled body. The silence enveloping him was comforting in a way, though it was interrupted here and there by the soft rumblings of the rain storm. He sat in darkness and let the alcohol, his sorrow over losing Erin, and the fatigue which had set into his body lull him into a restless sleep.

—————

While Jim slept and the heavens continued their onslaught, plans and decisions began to take shape.

A dark vehicle crept down the street then its headlights suddenly went out, as its lone occupant steered it closer to the detective's residence. He parked the SUV several yards away, enough to keep the house within eyesight, and a good distance away to keep himself out of sight. Though, at this hour of the morning he was sure no one would notice him anyway. The stranger let the engine idle for a few minutes then shut it off; he looked at his watch and thought over his next move carefully.

The timing had to be perfect and then everything else would fall into place, just like he hoped. This was a game to him and the senior homicide detective was just another piece that had to be played. After that, all he needed was to tie up a few loose ends then he would be able to enjoy all the hard work he had put into this.

This was just another job he had to complete; he was a puppet and answered to a master whom he had never seen. And cops or not, the people on his list were marks and he intended to fulfill his contract. Of course, this job didn't come without its share of enjoyment, and free reign was always an incentive with his employer.

He was destined to be labeled a serial killer by the media, of that he was sure. The idea amused him, but he wouldn't let all of the attention go to his head. He wasn't out here to live up to anyone's expectations; his only intent was to do away with a few—very specific—thorns in his boss's side.

The discovery this detective and his CSI colleagues had made this morning was the first piece on the board. The other woman proved to be expendable when she intervened. No problem, he did away with her with some relative ease. They both fought rather bravely, especially the detective, and he wasn't able to come away without any physical scars. Whatever they managed to collect in the form of DNA wasn't going to help the crime lab one iota; he was a ghost, and had successfully fallen off the grid a few years ago.

A flash of lightning lit up the sky overhead, and he flinched when the following crack of thunder reverberated through the frame of his truck. Something seemed different when he turned to wipe the side window with his coat sleeve. He squinted through the downpour and his expression changed from one of confusion, to one of surprise. The street was dark, and full of shadows, whatever street lamps were spread throughout the neighborhood had gone out.

He took this temporary power outage as a sign.

The figure turned in his seat and gathered a few things from the back; he checked his 9mm and prepared it by entering a round into its chamber then climbed out of the vehicle. It was still raining heavily but a little water wouldn't make him change his mind. He was set on what he had to do and this morning he intended on getting this portion of the job done. His mind went over the possible scenarios that would play themselves out; he knew it was a little out of his usual style. But, finesse had gone out the window when nature presented him with a nice opportunity to take care of the situation.

With a deep breath, he sprinted the distance from his truck to Captain Brass's front door.

He would have to lure the prey to him.

—————

A peal of thunder escaped across the night sky and traveled down into the foundation of Jim's home. Several creaks and moans came from the floorboards in the living room; the temperature had dropped a few degrees and the house protested. He was oblivious to the noises surrounding him, but there was something in the way his breathing came in quick gasps and in the way his free hand twitched.

He was fighting off the demons that had invaded his dreams and was steadily losing the battle.

Slowly, a cry full of anguish and pain begin to build up in his throat until it escaped his lips. He sat up in terror and the small glass still full of liquid, slipped through his fingers and crashed onto the floor—tiny splatters of scotch spread everywhere. He wiped his hand across his stubble covered chin and exhaled loudly, when he felt the chill seep back into his body.

The house did feel colder when he rose out of the chair, and it seemed unnaturally quiet. The rush of air he was accustomed to hearing from the air vents was muted. He sighed, when he realized that the electricity must've gone out. Jim stood still, long enough to gather his bearings, and looked at the glowing hands on his watch. It was close to two in the morning and the storm still hadn't migrated out of the city. Jim glanced down at the floor and cursed under his breath; that would have to be cleaned up before he crawled into bed. It was a big mistake falling asleep in the brown leather chair; his back and neck were paying the price now as he moved into the kitchen. Resting his hands on the marble counter, he closed his eyes.

Old and useless was what he felt like.

The investigation weighed heavily on his mind and he was anxious for some news, but he sensed that Sara hadn't called. He turned and focused on his cordless phone which sat on the bar, and contemplated calling her instead. Maybe the sound of her voice would do him some good, so he reached across the counter top and froze. He figured it would be best to wait for her to reach him instead and turned away from the counter, not bothering to check his messages.

Jim couldn't help push away a nagging feeling that the evidence in the case would prove inconclusive. That was something he hadn't shared with Vega—let alone Grissom. Jim knew in the back of his mind that the TRO Erin had filed had no bearing in this case. Those feelings didn't help soften that blow though. She was in need of his help when she was alive and he hadn't been persistent enough in finding out the truth for himself. He stood in the darkness thinking about how quiet the house was, and how lonely he felt.

He sighed then left the kitchen. His body craved sleep, but he was afraid of what his dreams might hold for him when his subconscious awoke again. Jim was about to enter his bedroom when a pounding on the front door echoed through his home. The pounding got louder and he became intensely annoyed.

"_This better be good,"_ he muttered to himself, while strolling back down the hall.

He stopped near the opening to his kitchen and looked over to where his gun holster was lying on top of his jacket, he approached the bar stool and took the sidearm out of it. His sidearm felt cold through the fabric of his pants as he pressed it up against the back of his thigh, but its weight made him feel secure when he moved over to the front door.

Jim looked through the peephole and noted that his early morning visitor appeared nondescript, was dressed in black, and the shadows in the alcove didn't help him get a good look at his face.

"Yeah, what is it?" he spoke through the heavy door, favoring caution and his gut feeling.

"Captain Brass, there's been an accident."

"Are you a cop?" Jim knew all the tricks home-invasion perps used to get into your house. Nearly everyone in this town knew who he was and what he did. He wasn't a stranger to a TV camera; including the fact that just about anyone had access to the internet and personal information. "I ain't opening this door, until I see a badge or an ID."

"Well, that's a shame…"

The black-clad stranger kicked in the front door, pushing the detective back forcibly. Jim's weapon slipped out of his grasp and clattered to the floor next to him. The air was stolen from his lungs when he landed hard on his back and his eyes tried to focus on the ceiling above, but they failed him. He fought off the impending darkness which threatened to drag him under.

The figure leaned in and whispered into Jim's ear, "Does it hurt?"

In response Jim tried to make a move for his weapon, but was painfully stopped when the figure smashed the butt of his own 9mm on the detective's fingers. There was an audible crunch, in the silence of the enclosed space, and he cried out. The assailant placed his foot on Jim's weapon and nudged it a few feet away.

"Uh uh, Captain. Now, as I was going to—"

Jim winced and softly said, "Your voice… familiar."

"I'm shocked. How could you have forgotten me so soon?"

Reaching deep into his mind, Jim was able to recall the memory. "You killed those women," he said, struggling for air.

"Yes. Though, I was really after the detective." The assailant knelt down next to him and kept his own gun pressed up against Jim's temple. "Ah, I sense the detective meant something to you."

Jim narrowed his eyes in anger then dredged up all the strength he could and willed his left arm to move. His assailant recoiled at the sudden movement, but the detective was faster. He grabbed the black-clad stranger by the collar of his shirt and twisted it, trying to unbalance him in the process. The figure choked on his own words and tried to use the butt of his gun again; this time raising it over his head—defending himself, Jim blocked the strike with his right forearm and winced. The detective succeeded in doing what he intended and the stranger grunted, sending both arms out to control his fall but the back of his head smacked into the wall, disorienting him a little.

Jim took advantage of the situation and turned on his side, using his elbow to push himself off the floor. He flinched when the barrel of his assailant's gun came into view and froze in that position.

"My boss told me you would try and put up a fight." The stranger rose, massaging the hollow of his neck.

Jim looked up a little confused, he tried to focus through the haze and asked, "Your boss?"

"Never mind that. Get up, Captain Brass."

Jim swallowed and tasted his own blood as he stood up clutching his injured hand tightly against his side. His mind was fuzzy and his legs threatened to give out, so he placed his other hand on the wall to steady himself. A coughing spasm sent another stab of pain down into his lower back. It subsided but he continued to stare down at the floor; angry at himself and his predicament. He had to act quickly, to get out of this alive; however, he knew that any course of action would put him at risk. His eyes searched in vain for the gun, but he softly cursed to himself when he couldn't find it.

Armed or not, he would have to make a bold move to extricate himself out of this. He just prayed that he wouldn't end up taking a bullet in a vital area. Just the pain from the broken hand was enough make anyone black out, but he kept his senses and waited for the stranger to make his own move.

"It's been a pleasure," the figure said, taking a step back and raising the gun. "I know you can't say the same, though."

_It's now or never… _

Jim lunged forward and knocked the perp off of his feet again; the sound of the gunshot disrupted the stillness enveloping them and traveled throughout the house. The detective fell to his knees and sagged against the wall with his eyes closed then felt something warm flowing down his temple, into his right eye. A gunshot wound to the head should've killed him instantly, but why was he still breathing? He opened his eyes and tried to ignore the pain and noticed the figure in the shadows, gasping for air.

_The gun, where the hell is my weapon? _

Hoping to get lucky, he sent his left hand out in search of it, while his attacker seemed distracted, and Jim's fingertips came in contact with the cold steel. Jim raised his sidearm with a shaky left hand and fired, the flash from the muzzle blinded him for an instant but the resulting cry of pain let him know that the shot had found its target.

"Shit!" the stranger cried, voice full of frustration.

Blinking several times in the darkness, Jim shifted slightly when he noticed the perp raise his own gun again. He had a good bead on him, but the detective moved at the last minute and winced when the gunshot went through his right shoulder. If he was the intended target of a hit then his attacker had done a poor job. Gasping for air, he heard—through the low ringing in his ears—his attacker stumble out of the house. Eventually, his footfalls faded and merged with the sound of the rain.

Jim slowly pushed himself up to a sitting position against the wall, knowing well enough that he wouldn't be able to walk the length of the hallway to call for help. So, he rested his head back and listened to the early morning downpour, along with his rapid breathing. The water drifted in on the wind and through the doorway then trickled into his half-opened eyes; it felt cold, but it wasn't enough to keep him conscious.

Jim finally let himself be embraced by the shadows around him.

**oOoOo**

Sara Sidle occupied the empty break room in the crime lab; she sat in the black leather sofa with her hands wrapped around a hot cup of tea. The stuffiness of the lab hampered her ability to think and get through her building frustration.

Doc Robbins and his assistant David Phillips' autopsies of both women solidified the COD and what had killed them. It was a single shot in the center of the chest cavity, from which they both had bled to death—all of the other injuries had been inflicted anti-mortem. Sara also took on the task of finding out the second victim's identity, by running her fingerprints through AFIS; it turned out Carey Peters was an employee at The Palms casino. Not only had they both been brutally beaten; they had also suffered a slow and painful death. A ballistics test matched both bullets to that of a Walther P99 9mm caliber weapon. There were also no signs of sexual assault which meant the CSIs' weren't looking for a sexual predator.

Sara had been relieved to find that out; she was afraid of how Jim would react to that kind of news. Her thoughts then turned to how the detective was doing after being forced to surrender the case over to Detective Sam Vega. She was worried about him and after failing to reach him at home, she got it into her mind that he needed someone to be there for him, whether he liked it or not. She rose from the sofa and tossed her remaining cup of tea in a nearby trash receptacle then headed down the corridor, lost in thought.

The evidence recovered from both victims wasn't helpful at all. Either it had been contaminated, or something was inconsistent, she dared not say there had been an error in its collection—Gil Grissom was the one who had processed the bodies. Just by looking at her boss she had picked up on the anger and frustration, evident in his fierce blue eyes when he had found out the news. The DNA had given him the most trouble; the scrapings he had gathered from both women proved to be inconclusive, but he wasn't about to accept that. He demanded Mia run the tests again, until he was satisfied with a positive answer.

None came though, and Sara had to excuse herself when he had received the secondary test results in his office. She could feel the tension in the room when she had left him to his own thoughts. Her departure hadn't even managed to elicit a glance from him.

So, as she neared her supervisor's office once again, she poked her head around the door and he looked up at her.

Grissom waved her in, but she hesitated, "I can't. I uh, need to check on something."

"You mean Brass?"

"Yes. He isn't answering his phone and I'm a bit worried, especially with the way he walked out of here earlier."

"Go ahead," he responded, this time not arguing with her.

"What is it, Grissom?" she asked, noticing an edge of frustration in his voice.

"It's just this case, so many…"

"…anomalies?" She finished his thought with a tiny smile.

Grissom's eyebrow arched, he then stood up and met her at the door, "I think I'll go through the evidence we gathered at the crime scene again."

She nodded her head and was about to say something, but he turned his back on her.

"Keep your cell phone with you in case—" he said, as he walked away.

"I know… in case you need me."

Sara watched him stop in mid-stride and tilt his head to the side. She imagined the look on his face, since she couldn't see it for herself and once again smiled.

—————

As Sara meandered down a semi-deserted street in Henderson headed towards Jim's home, the moon eventually broke through the dissipating cloud cover. She craned her neck over the steering wheel to have a look out of the windshield; it was a full-moon and it looked beautiful. She tapped her fingers impatiently on the center console while awaiting a traffic light to change, and her mind once again wandered to how Jim might be doing emotionally. She suspected the detective was having some difficulty falling asleep or maybe he hadn't even gone home at all.

Her assumption about not finding him at home was dashed as soon as she turned onto the street where Jim's house was situated. She sensed and noticed something different about the surrounding neighborhood as she neared the darkened home.

Sara parked the SUV in the detective's driveway, alongside his vehicle and climbed out. She chastised herself when a noise stopped her in her tracks—a cat hissed and darted across her path and she gasped. The electricity was still out in certain areas, and that's when she realized what looked different about the neighborhood: the street lamps weren't lit up like they should be.

But she couldn't shake the sensation that something else was wrong. She neared the house's front door and stood still, shock having rooted her to the spot. The moonlight had penetrated into the alcove and was shining into the entrance through the wide open front door. Sara took a step forward thinking her mind was playing a horrible trick on her, but she paused when the sight of a human hand made her jump.

On instinct, she un-holstered her sidearm and clicked off its safety. Creeping further into the darkness she squinted, letting her eyes adjust to the absence of light.

Even in the gloom she was able recognize the homicide detective's body, and the sight of his blood frightened her.

**To be continued…**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The double-homicide investigation was going nowhere… fast, and Detective Vega didn't have a solid lead. Well, besides the name of the second victim, which proved fruitless; Carey Peters had no other connections in Vegas and was fairly new to the town. Most of the information the crime lab had passed on to him wasn't enough and he shared in the criminalist's frustration. Vega had been waiting on any news Gil Grissom had uncovered, after he had finished going through the box of collected evidence from the scene again. But the phone call—which had come into the nine-one-one dispatch center—made them set that aside for later.

Now, he hoped that any evidence collected from Captain Brass and his home as a result of his altercation with their suspect would give it a kick start and move it along.

Jim had almost paid with his life during his struggle with the perp.

After arriving at the new crime scene Vega had interviewed Sara, who had placed the call into dispatch after finding Jim in need of medical attention. She then told Detective Vega whatever Jim was able to tell her, and it wasn't much. After all, the man was in bad shape and Sam didn't expect to learn anything this early.

Vega let her go after Sara said she needed to go along with Jim to the hospital. He then looked around and spotted Grissom along with Greg Sanders standing near the entryway to Jim's home. They both watched as the senior detective was loaded onto a stretcher and taken over to a waiting EMS truck. Jim was semi-alert and tried speaking to Grissom, but the medics pleaded with him to conserve his energy.

Sara met the stretcher halfway and leaned in to whisper something to Jim which seemed to calm him.

Detective Vega would see to it that the perp got what he deserved for the murder of those two women and the attempted murder of his boss.

He had on occasion worked with Detective Tobin and respected her abilities on the force. Homicide wasn't for the squeamish, but she had handled herself well. And, she was a pro in the interrogation room. It was common knowledge around the department that she had been at this racket for far longer than she cared to admit.

"What did Sara have to say?"

Vega looked up to see Grissom approaching him.

"Jim's a little out of it, doesn't remember much, and he didn't get a good look at the guy's face," Vega replied, once Grissom was close enough.

"I'm not surprised. He did manage to put up a struggle. Sara was fortunate enough to process the scene and collect some evidence from him before we arrived."

"Yeah, she was fortunate, but you should be thanking Jim. He urged Sara to do so." Vega's comment elicited a pause from the criminalist.

The early morning ruckus hadn't gone unnoticed by a few neighbors, particularly the ones living close to the homicide captain. They were drawn to the scene like moths to a flame. And the flashing cacophony of red and blue washed out all the color in the surrounding area, making this crime scene resemble a nightmare.

Where the hell were these people when Jim needed help? Vega was disgusted by their curiosity. He turned away, but a slight commotion near the yellow crime scene tape attracted his attention.

Grissom raised an eyebrow, and looked at him when he noticed it too. "A possible witness?"

"Let's find out, shall we?"

Detective Vega, with Grissom in tow, stepped over to the yellow tape and the detective asked the uniformed officer restraining the young onlooker for an explanation.

"He wants to speak to the person in charge, Sir," the officer said over his shoulder.

With a wide-eyed look, their possible witness glanced over the officer's shoulder and asked, "Is that you? I saw something, it was dark, but I know I saw something…"

Vega tapped the officer on the arm and motioned him to let the civilian go. As the uniformed officer stepped away the detective gave their witness the once over. One of the neighbors all right—dressed in his pajamas, and a black robe tightly tied at the waist undoubtedly to keep out the chill in the air. Their potential witness cleared his throat and they traded introductions.

"Mr. Trevino, what exactly did you see?" Vega asked, withdrawing his pen and notepad from his breast pocket.

"Um, call me Brian. Anyway, I was uh, up late chatting online with some friends then the power got knocked out." He shook his head and then continued, "Well, I went around the house checking to see if everything was all right and I happened to look out of the window facing the street."

"Pardon me, but which house is yours?" Grissom interrupted.

"My family lives a house down from this one… Anyway, I looked out of the window and there was this truck; it looked out of place." Brian then pointed across the street. "It sorta looked like yours, Mr. Grissom, except that one was black and yours is blue."

"Those are some good observation skills, Brian." Grissom was amazed at the detail his eyes had managed to pick up on. "Are you sure it was black? I'm only asking because the visibility was low, due to the rain."

"Oh believe me, I thought it was blue but I'm positive it was a black SUV—a passing car's headlights helped out." He showed the scientist a small grin and Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Well, I turned away from the window, that's when I heard the squeal of car tires. I ran back and looked out. I noticed the truck drove off a little erratically, with its headlights turned off."

Vega was busy jotting all of this information down, though the hopes of this being a solid lead were not very high. Not much information to go on. There were thousands of SUVs fitting this description roaming the city. This was a veritable needle in a really big haystack. But, he pressed on—maybe this witness had seen something else, besides just the color and model of the truck.

"Is there anything else you can remember?" Vega looked up from his notes. "Think about it before you answer."

Grissom and Vega shared looks, during the drawn out silence and their own disappointment began to set in. The detective's posture took on some frustration and he checked his watch. They could be at the lab processing the evidence, and then maybe they would have something better to go on.

Their witness slowly began shaking his head then abruptly snapped his fingers. "Yes! I remember something. There was this figure, and he was dressed in black. I only caught sight of him out of the corner of my eye and even then I thought I was seeing things; that's why I didn't turn to look. Anyway, there seemed something wrong about him." He smiled broadly at having successfully recovered the memory.

The detective nodded his head; this wasn't anything new. Sara had mentioned to him that Jim had shot his attacker. So, out there somewhere was a wounded man. That was something he had asked one of his officers to radio in. The surrounding hospitals were on alert for any gunshot victims within the last hour or so. As of yet, he hadn't received any word from either one of them.

Vega then looked over at Grissom, urging the scientist to ask any questions.

"Brian, I know there's something else you remember. Close your eyes and think about it. This is important. A good friend of mine has been hurt here this morning."

"Yeah, I know who lives here. Everyone on this block knows a cop lives in that house." He looked over Grissom's shoulder at Jim's home. "I uh, yeah, wait a minute. Here, this might help."

He handed Detective Vega a slip of paper with a couple of numbers and one letter scribbled on it.

"Thanks, Brian. You've been a great help." Vega turned the note over to Grissom, and they both raised their eyebrows in surprise.

"Glad to help you guys out." Their witness was about to leave, but stopped and turned around. "Detective Vega what is your friend's name; the officer that was injured?"

"Captain Jim Brass." Vega replied, and smiled at the familiarity that the name invoked in the young man's eyes.

Apparently, Brian did on occasion watch the evening news.

**oOoOo**

Jim felt as if he were treading water, his limbs were heavy and everyone and everything sounded muffled. He opened his eyes partially and blinked at the harsh light directed into them from overhead. Something covered his mouth and the rush of cool air brought him out of his stupor. Jim then moved his lips, but the words poured out in a whisper. An unfamiliar female face loomed into his field of vision and he tried to speak again.

"Doctor, he's awake."

That statement answered the other question he had on his mind.

"Good. Nurse, make sure the OR is ready for us. We need to take care of that gunshot wound then stitch up the laceration on his forehead."

"Yes, Doctor Phelps."

Jim's right hand involuntarily twitched and he gritted his teeth.

"Take it easy, Captain Brass. You're in the hospital. You've sustained a broken hand, and a single gunshot wound to your shoulder. The bullet traveled through the soft tissue and exited cleanly."

Jim nodded his head in response.

"We just need to take care of the open wound then run some tests—we have to make sure there aren't any fragments left that could cause an infection."

The detective moved his left hand and pushed the oxygen mask down, but his voice sounded harsh. Obviously frustrated at his inability to enunciate his words, Jim shut his eyes briefly.

The doctor understood and patted his left shoulder. "She's out in the waiting area. You'll be fine, I promise. We'll take good care of you."

Jim managed to whisper the words thank you and then closed his eyes.

—————

Sara paced the length of the waiting room then thought better; she sank into a chair as far away from human contact as possible.

Had it really been two hours since Jim was brought into the trauma area?

A slight shudder coursed through her body and she rested the back of her head on the wall. How long had he been lying there, in need of aid? There were so many questions, but the most important one demanded an answer. Who had attacked him, and why?

Sara opened her eyes and looked at her hands—the blood stains were gone, but the sight of Jim after she had discovered him still frightened her.

She closed her eyes at that thought, and inhaled sharply when her cell phone rang.

"_You okay?"_

"Yeah, I'm fine." She sighed. Actually, she wasn't, but her problems paled in comparison to what Jim was going through at the moment.

Grissom wasn't convinced, though. There was sadness evident in her voice.

"_Any word on how Jim is doing?"_

"Not yet. I suspect he's in surgery getting the wounds stitched."

"_Keep me informed."_ He paused for a few minutes. "_I've got to go. An eyewitness at the scene gave us a vital clue in this case. Detective Vega and I are about to find out where it leads."_

That was definitely some very good news. This was something all of them were hoping for, since discovering the victims out by the deserted road. With Jim being injured by the suspect, their murder investigation had taken on a whole new meaning.

"I can meet both of you there."

"_The two of us can handle it. I think Jim would appreciate you being there for him when he wakes."_

She mulled over the advice in silence and realized he was right. "Well, you keep me informed. And Grissom, if you need me—"

"_I'll call you."_

Sara smiled slightly, and looked up to see someone standing there staring at her. The older man was dressed in the customary blue scrubs that denoted him as one of the many doctors within the hospital. For a minute he seemed confused at the sight of her smile then returned it. He was about to address her, but Sara held up a finger to stop him.

"Right," she said into the phone, then closed it.

The doctor took a cautious step forward, extending his hand, and Sara shook it.

"Is everything all right?" he asked.

"I hope so." Sara answered, and that stumped the doctor. "Our investigation was at a standstill then this happens. How is Captain Brass doing?"

"Ah, I see, you're one of his colleagues. I'm Doctor Jeremy Phelps, nice to meet you, Miss…"

"Oh, I'm sorry. It's Sara Sidle, and yes, I'm one of Jim's colleagues."

"Mr. Brass is doing remarkably well, considering he lost quite a bit of blood. He's in post-op and in the process of being moved to a private room."

"How soon can he have visitors?"

"I don't see why he shouldn't have any as soon as he's situated. Captain Brass will still be suffering the effects of the anesthesia nevertheless your voice will do him some good."

"Thank you, doctor."

"Sure. You can ask at the nurse's station for his room number, after a few minutes or so."

Doctor Phelps shook her hand again then walked away. Sara observed him disappear around the corner at the end of the hall. She exhaled loudly and settled back in her chair. All this waiting was driving her up the wall; she desperately wanted to see Jim with her own eyes. At least the sight of him would quell the lingering anxiety she still felt over finding him so badly injured.

—————

Jim subconsciously knew the pain was there, but the synapses from his extremities to his brain were subdued. Though, he still managed to will himself awake, at the cost of feeling a little sick to his stomach, he struggled to rise above the drug induced fog, and blinked several times. The only light in his room cast a soft glow that traveled up the wall behind the bed he occupied. With a slight grunt he lifted his head and exhaled softly at the sight of his tightly bandaged hand. In the back of his mind he could still hear the loud crunch as the suspect broke the bones in it.

He contemplated the upcoming therapy he would have to put himself through, and winced.

But he was happy to be alive.

Turning his head, he spotted a blue pitcher and a small plastic cup sitting next to it on a small rolling table. His throat was parched and his tongue felt like sand paper—there was no way he was going to be able to quench his thirst at that moment. Closing his eyes for a second, he silently prayed that someone would come to his aid. Just then the door creaked open, and he listened to soft footsteps as they drew closer to his bedside.

Sara withdrew her hand from his forehead when Jim slowly opened his eyes; she was surprised to see him wake.

"Hey," she whispered.

He searched for his voice, only to find it sounding weak. "Thanks for being there."

With a smile she ran her slender fingers across his cheek.

"I'm glad to see that you're doing okay."

"Don't feel a damn thing," he said with a grin then gestured toward the pitcher of water.

Sara placed her hand under his head and helped him up; she then placed the cup to his lips and let him quench his thirst. Jim smiled in gratitude, and savored the cool liquid against his weak vocal cords.

"I'm sure they're taking really good care of you," she commented.

Jim winked in response.

"Did you get enough evidence?" he asked, after a few seconds of silence had settled on the room.

"Yeah, and Grissom was surprised the idea was yours. Sometimes I wonder where that man's mind is at."

"Have you thought of checking inside one of those liquid filled jars in his office?"

"Good thinking," she answered, with a twinkle in her eyes. "I just came by to see for myself that you were doing okay."

"Had enough of me already?" Jim smiled. "What is it, Sara?"

"No, it's not that. I've got to get back to the lab. Grissom and Vega are on to something, though they decided to exclude me."

"Ouch, I can imagine the type of ass chewing Gil will be getting."

"It'll be a thorough one."

His only reply was in the form of a lazy nod, and Sara could tell that the drugs were threatening to drag him under yet again. …_Must be some powerful stuff. _Physically, he looked terrible, but all the wounds he suffered weren't life-threatening, and she was grateful for that.

"Sleep well, Jim." She gave his hand a light squeeze as his eyes fluttered close.

Sara stood over him a few seconds longer, then took her leave.

Out in the corridor she gave the guard next to the door a curt nod, and wandered further down the hall. Sara was oblivious to the uncharacteristic sneer on an orderly's face, who strolled past her. With her back up against the chilly-white-wall, she seemed to relax for the first time in a few hours.

There was nothing more to do here, however, she found herself unable to take the first step that led her out of the hospital. Sara lifted her head and pinched the bridge of her nose, letting a deep sigh pass her lips. She was definitely tired.

Taking one last look, she frowned, when a weird feeling crept into her brain. Sara shrugged, discounting the sensation as fatigue and tension then finally peeled her tired frame away from the wall. A thought struck her and the nagging in the back of her mind intensified. Instinctually, she stopped in mid-stride and looked behind her, but the object of those thoughts had disappeared.

_Something doesn't feel right._

**oOoOo**

He thought his plans had been thwarted by the sudden appearance of whom he knew to be Captain Brass' guardian angel. But nothing could've been further from the truth when she had failed to closely look him over. And, even then, he blended in so well here that he couldn't be mistaken for anyone else—other than hospital staff.

It was clean and simple really. He had snuck into Desert Palm Hospital under his own waning energy, and had treated his wounds with the help of a horrified nurse. Another victim; just as well, he couldn't let anyone live who knew that he had suffered a gunshot injury. He was aware that a bulletin for a male suspect suffering this type of wound had been issued; no way in hell would he let them find him now. And, through some painful coaxing of Nurse Sandra, he had found out a crucial piece of information.

Captain Brass was on his way to him, and this time he intended on keeping his agreement by finishing the job.

He put on a friendly smile for the cop standing guard outside his target's room. That was easy as well, his credentials were up to par and nothing would deter him from completing the task. The smile turned into an evil grin once he was permitted into Captain Brass' room. He gave the mop and bucket he was pushing a kick, and they thumped into the nearby wall, splashing water onto the linoleum floor. Standing perfectly still he took in the surroundings then his eyes fell on the detective lying on the bed.

_Well, it's time to finish this._

Clenching his hands into fists, he swallowed deeply, and walked over to the mop bucket then dipped his hand into its murky water and retrieved a sealed plastic bag. Contained therein was a single syringe filled with an amber liquid, which he intended on using on the sleeping detective. It would be undetectable, yet very painful.

Stepping over to the sink, he pulled out a pair of latex gloves from a box on the wall. The only sounds were his harsh breathing and that of the detective's then they were drowned out by the smacking of the gloves as he put them on. One last glance at Brass' sleeping form then he bent down and whispered into the man's ear.

"First the heart goes, then the rest."

The needle went into the IV line without any hesitation then he pushed down on the plunger.

"Goodbye, Captain Brass."

Jim's eyelids fluttered open, and he recoiled at the sight of the familiar face within his eye-line. He tried to say something, but a sharp pain traveled up his arm and into his chest causing his jaw to clench shut. Jim fought to stay conscious while around and above him the monitors erupted into an ear shattering frenzy.

The stranger grinned again as he stepped over to the door. Upon opening it, he grabbed the uniformed cop and yelled that the patient was having difficulty breathing. The distraction worked well as the uniformed officer ran past him, pushing him aside to see what was wrong. Jim's attacker steeled himself a glance down the hallway and noticed several doctors and nurses running in his direction, so he decided to make his exit.

Little did he know that further along the corridor Sara Sidle stood transfixed by the commotion, catching sight of the orderly as he ran in the other direction. It had only taken a few seconds and her hunch had been proven correct when the hospital staff disappeared into Jim's room. Her instincts told her to go be by his side, but the staff would have something different to say about that.

She decided to take a risk and go after that mysterious orderly instead.

**To be continued…**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **_So sorry for the delay in posting—real-life, and some unexpected news side-tracked me. Thanks so much for the kind reviews and special thanks goes out to beaujolais for the continued help and much needed motivation._

**Chapter 4**

Sara sprinted down the corridor, intent on figuring out first hand the identity of the mysterious figure. He was aware that he was being followed, that much was obvious by the glances thrown over his shoulders. There was no use in her yelling for him to stop; it wouldn't do any good, and other hospital personnel, patients, and innocent bystanders would only interfere with her gaining the extra edge she needed to catch up to him.

Someone inadvertently darted out in front of the suspect, and Sara skidded to a stop a few feet away. Her body tensed, and on instinct she palmed the clasp of her weapon holster. The man posing as a hospital orderly grabbed the startled elderly patient close to him, and pressed a syringe up to her neck, his eyes gleaming with desperation.

Sara sized him up noticing a thin sheen of sweat had broken out across his forehead; he then moved to take a step back using the patient as a human shield and winced. The suspect was wounded and practically cornered—this could turn out to be an explosive situation. No sooner had that thought crossed her mind, than she was distracted by a voice and rushing footsteps from behind.

That was the perfect distraction; the suspect's eyes widened, and he shoved his human shield toward Sara, knocking her off balance for a second. She made sure the elderly woman was all right before turning her attention back to the spot where they stood earlier. A fire escape door a few feet away slowly swung shut and she muttered a curse word under her breath. But before she could take a step forward, two security guards bellowed for her to freeze.

They obviously had no weapons on them, when she turned to face them, so with a quick movement she un-clipped her credentials from a belt loop on her jeans and tossed it at one of them. With a harsh glare she turned and walked away, adding a command over her shoulder, as she forcefully shoved the fire escape door open, "Call it in!"

She scrambled down the stairs, making sure each landing was clear. Sara was three flights up, but that didn't include the underground parking area reserved for hospital personnel so with a loud exhalation she slowly nudged open the fire door on the lower level. An unnerving silence greeted her, and the minute sounds of the city above seemed to be magnified. With the tip of her shoe she kicked the door open and jumped back. Sure enough it slammed closed. Another kick sent it back; she heard a grunt and the sound of flesh making contact with the cold metal door. The door began to swing shut, so she slid around it and trained her weapon on the man she was pursuing.

"Drop it!" Sara snapped at him, and motioned with her head.

The hollow clank of a metal pipe startled her, but she didn't allow herself to flinch, and the suspect glared angrily.

"Get up slowly, and keep your hands where I can see them," she commanded in a low voice.

"I would if I could. But, you see, your pal left a lasting impression."

"Then how did you manage to run down a few stairs without re-injuring yourself?" Sara asked angrily under her breath, and she received a shrug in response. "On your feet, slowly, hands where I can see them."

"My, my you're such a demanding woman," he said with a smirk. "Well, while you're down here pretending to be a _policewoman_, your friend up there is shrugging off the last remnants of his dreary existence."

"Tell me, what did you inject him with?" Sara's eyes narrowed and she approached him. His eyes widened imperceptibly, though he recovered quickly.

"Ah, that old woman in the corridor…" he spoke aloud, then he locked eyes with Sara again. "It's my own concoction, a little of this and a lot of that."

"What was in it?" Sara demanded in a dangerous tone.

"Well, why don't you find out for yourself?"

Sara was taken unawares at the next action he took.

The syringe flew at her like an oversized dart, and she happened to find herself in the position of being the dart board. Ducking out of the way she lashed out, and batted it away with her forearm, then lost her balance in the process. He snatched the opportunity and lunged at her, knocking both of them back against the cold and unforgiving metal of the fire escape door. Her sidearm clattered to the floor and spun away as she slid down onto the pavement, breathing harshly. There was a loud thump and a choking noise, which was cut off midway, located near the top of her head. She shook her head to dispel some of the cobwebs, and glanced over through the slight haze that enveloped her.

The suspect lay on his stomach, staring at her with unblinking eyes as blood poured forth from an open head wound. The sounds of rushing footsteps pulled her out of her dazed reverie.

"Miss, are you all right?"

"I-I think so." Sara, with the stranger's help, slowly stood up on shaky legs. The stranger continued to stare at the person lying on the cold floor with some discomfort then looked at Sara again, awaiting an explanation. "He's, um, don't worry about him. I need to get back up to the third floor."

"Well, I don't think the police will look too kindly on you leaving, without answering a few questions."

"Yeah, you're right." Sara grimaced at the spoken truth. Jim needed her; however, she couldn't very well leave the body there. Un-clipping her cell phone off her waistband she dialed her supervisor's mobile. Grissom answered and spoke to her in clipped tones. Apparently he and Detective Vega were in the hospital, and were on their way down to her.

With every passing second, her worry over Jim's life increased.

The sight of Grissom coming around the metal door eased her tension a bit, though the nagging feeling that they had some bad news to pass along gnawed at her insides. Grissom, sensing her emotions shook his head to discourage those thoughts, and beckoned her over. The crime scene would have to wait a few minutes, as he leaned over and whispered into her ear concerning what he knew of Jim's struggles to remain amongst the living.

—————

Jim was on the verge of letting go but a voice deep within him urged him to fight. During his struggles he had pulled out the IV that fed him the vital fluids that were keeping him hydrated, unfortunately the tubing had also allowed the deadly poison to partially seep into his veins.

It was a cold feeling at first then the pain became too much and his eyes shut tight, and his fists clenched, the fingernails drawing blood from the inside of his palms. The breaths he inhaled into his burning lungs were shallow and it felt as if he was drowning; thus his body went into convulsions.

Hands and arms suddenly held him down and someone whispered into his ear. _Everything will be all right_, _you're going to be all right, _it said Jim didn't feel that way, and his eyes flew open, tears stinging the corners as they scurried down his cheeks. Everything was blurred, and the voices were distorted, but he was determined to put up a fight, and not let himself be dragged down into the murky blackness he knew was waiting for him.

He had no idea what he had been injected with; all he knew is that he wasn't going to let his assailant get the upper hand. How his thoughts remained coherent was beyond him but then Jim remembered those last words whispered to him by his attacker.

Another familiar voice, soothing and feminine, caused his thrashing to stop. The pain was unbearable, and he let a strangled cry escape his lips, but the voice persisted as if it had to tell him something important. Her cool touch came in contact with his forehead and he gasped; he looked straight into her eyes then blinked several times.

"We know what it was, Jim. Fight it, stay with us."

"S-Sara?" Jim's own voice was harsh and laced with pain, though, he slowly understood and subtly nodded his head. His eyelids fluttered and once again, his entire body tensed with a grunt causing her to emit a loud gasp.

The pain subsided and allowed him to relax long enough, and he listened to the distant unwavering shrill beeps from the electronic monitors he was hooked up to. Noises filtered through them and they managed to make it to his ears; shuffling, gasps, and a deep voice demanding everyone clear out of the room.

But what struck him as odd was the sudden and eerily palpable silence that enveloped him in its fierce embrace. His breathing was shallow, and each breath shortened until he no longer registered it with his muffled hearing. His panic rose then there wasn't any pain, just a warm tingly feeling and strangely, it felt welcoming.

Jim's eyes flew open and his hand reacted out of sudden desperation, grabbing whatever was near in a tight grip. There was a shift and the warmth it had encountered ebbed and flowed, until it no longer radiated into his flesh.

"Jim…" That was the last thing he heard then the silence overtook him.

"_Doctor he's going into cardiac arrest!" _

**oOoOo**

That was four days ago… on the sixth day Jim demanded that he'd be released from the hospital.

He was finally on his way home, and he felt numb. It wasn't due to the painkillers and the near-death experience he'd been through; Jim's heart had ceased beating for two minutes he'd been told. No, it was the overwhelming weariness he felt all the way down to his bones. He had asked for a cab to take him home and was absorbed in his own thoughts, when something in the bag containing his personal effects began ringing.

"Hey, Catherine."

"_Hey yourself… Jim, where are you?"_

"I'm headed home."

"_I take it you discharged yourself against your doctor's wishes?" No response. "Well, how are you feeling?"  
_

"A little tired." Jim flexed the fingers of his right hand and winced. "This isn't a social call is it, Cath?"

"_I need to see you. There've been some developments in our double-homicide investigation as well as your assault case." _

"…A suspect?"

"_Not quite."_

Jim closed his eyes and sighed. How long was this investigation going to drag itself out? In any event he was eager to listen to what she had to say; he'd been left out of the loop for far too long… and having been unconscious for two days had its major drawbacks.

"Come by the house and we'll discuss it there. I assume you still have my spare keys?"

"_Okay. Let me take care of a few things here at the crime lab and I'll bring the case-file, including any pertinent notes over." _

"Good. I'll see you in a bit."

He closed his cell phone then rested his head back. The rest of the trip home, Jim spent racking his brain on what kind of developments the criminalists had uncovered. Would it lead to them solving the case once and for all?

Jim paid the cab fare and gingerly exited the vehicle feeling every inch of his injured shoulder scream in protest. He groaned as he straightened up and surveyed the neighborhood; he had definitely missed the welcoming sight of his home-sweet-home.

He rummaged within the clear plastic bag for his own set of keys and had just barely made it inside the door when he'd recognized the tell-tale signs of an unwelcome visitor.

So much for taking it easy, he thought with another groan.

Jim quietly made his way to the adjoining living room and making as little noise as possible, opened a secret compartment he had had built into his custom made entertainment cabinet. He was relieved by the comforting weight and feel of his earlier issued .38 service revolver. There was a muted thump from the vicinity of his personal office and he flinched, as two male voices reached his alert ears.

"You're such an idiot!"

"There's nothing else here. This is pointless."

Jim's eyebrows furrowed as he considered what action to take next.

"Hurry, we've been at this fruitless search for nearly thirty minutes."

"You're a bit jumpy this evening. Pop another Vicodin and shut up."

"You think he knows?"

Another thump and Jim moved closer to the living room's entryway while keeping to the shadows.

"Relax. I imagine he's still recovering from our associate's murder attempt… oh what an unprecedented failure that was." Silence, then the voice continued, "Anyway, too bad Bruno died, or I would've killed him myself. Nevertheless, he was a liability to our plans… just like that idiot Stacey."

"Don't forget that cop; she got too close as well. I wonder if Detective Brass is aware of what he has in his possession."

Jim's eyebrow arched and he figured it was time to put his plan into action but he'd forgotten about Catherine's request to visit him. The sound of keys rattling in the keyhole suspended their search and everything went quiet for a couple of beats. Jim had to react quickly or she would be ambushed and possibly hurt as she tried to enter the house.

The door opened a fraction of an inch and Catherine cried out, "Jim, are you here?"

The detective, still hidden in the shadows, swallowed thickly and made a move towards the door.

"It's that blonde. Get rid of her and do it with a minimum of noise," came a whispered command from the office.

Jim stepped out of the living room shadows as the sound of rushing footfalls approached and he intercepted one of the anonymous intruders. He used his good shoulder and sent the man sprawling onto the carpeted hallway. The unwelcome visitor was taken by surprise but with a burst of speed he turned over onto his back and yelled out for his cohort to come to his aid. Jim kicked the man in the side and brought down the butt of his revolver on the man's temple, painfully knocking him out.

"Oh, for Christ's sake… I told you to do it quietly!"

Catherine had stepped into the foyer and made eye contact with Jim then quickly moved into action. She withdrew her firearm and came up beside the detective as he tried to catch his breath. They quickly nodded to each other and moved into the living room intending on surprising the other stranger as he came out of the room to investigate.

The man's footfalls drew closer and Jim tensed, sensing a confrontation brewing. The footfalls stopped and a loud sigh, then a curse word escaped the man's breath. Jim took a chance and emerged from the living room's inky darkness to offer his visitor a gracious greeting.

"You know, I was never one for subtlety." Jim trained the gun on the stranger as he slowly turned. "Find what you were looking for?"

"But, you're supposed…"

"Surprise." Jim smirked. "Answer my question."

The man lunged in response and Jim fired a shot; its trajectory was thrown off target and the bullet whizzed past the man's head embedding itself in the ceiling. They both went down and Jim's assailant applied pressure to his injured shoulder causing the detective to cry out in pain. Jim's .38 went sliding into the nearby baseboard and disappeared in the gloom. The detective tried to use the extra surge of adrenaline to shove his attacker off when out of the corner of his eye he saw Catherine come into view.

The assailant stilled his movements when he felt the cool tip of Catherine's gun barrel on his neck. Jim used the opportunity afforded him and pushed the man off into a nearby wall then the stranger slowly struggled to his feet.

The detective with the aid of Catherine got to his own feet and winced at the sudden dull ache traveling down his right side.

"We should check him for weapons," Jim said with a grunt.

"Too late, Captain." The man smiled wickedly and pointed Jim's discarded revolver at Catherine and fired.

Jim yelled and shielded her with his own body as the bullet shredded the thin material on the lower left side of his loose shirt, impacting the wall behind them. She fired her weapon and the stranger grunted as her own weapon's trajectory found its target. The unknown assailant dropped down to his knees, loosened his grip on the revolver and pitched forward onto his face. Blood gushing freely from the wound in his chest, he exhaled one last time then his body went limp.

"Case closed?"

Catherine turned and looked at the detective strangely. Jim was out of breath and a small amount of blood had soaked through his bandage and the shirt he wore; his adrenaline gone, he looked up and smiled slightly. She returned the smile and let out the breath she had been holding.

"I think so. Too bad our prime suspect is dead. Jim Brass, meet Brian Trevino."

Jim glanced at Catherine and back at the man lying in his own pool of blood.

"Name's familiar… That's my neighbor," Jim said as he knelt down on one knee and rifled through the man's pockets.

"That he is. Were you aware that he'd been keeping a close watch on your movements since he'd moved in?"

"I thought something was a bit off when he introduced himself the day he moved—"

"Wait, that tipped you off?"

"The man was quite… excited to be living within arm's reach of a homicide detective."

"Well, I think I'd feel safer having a police detective as a neighbor."

"That's the thing though, not many of my neighbors know who I am. And another thing, he knew who I was before he was even settled in; also claimed to be from San Diego."

"Yeah, that's a bit strange," Catherine said and joined him in searching through the man's pockets. "What did you find?"

"Might've found what he was looking for, however, I've got a feeling they weren't able to find everything." Jim braced himself against the wall and stood up stiffly. "I think I need to sit down."

"Sounds like a good idea. I'll call nine-one-one and then advise Grissom and Sara to continue searching for the rest of those documents." Catherine stood up and reached into her jacket pocket for her cell phone. "I've got this under control. I think his pal is going to be out for some time."

"I should think so, after that blow to the head he just received." Jim chuckled and shook his head as he walked in the direction of the kitchen. "Oh by the way, _who_ is the other guy, Cath?"

"Nobody you'd recognize, Jim. I imagine he was placed among Trevino's little band to keep an eye on his progress. We'll know more once he wakes up. Though, I have my doubts as to whether he'll be saying much about his involvement."

"Sorta like watching the watcher… He'll lawyer up; from the looks of it, it'll be as soon as possible too. No, I don't think we'll find out too much from him." Jim then waved the newly discovered sheets of paper in the air and added with conviction, "I have a feeling Detective Tobin will be the one telling us everything."

"And I have a feeling she will," Catherine said under her breath then added, "I'm getting some paramedics out here to check on that wound of yours."

"No need. You can handle it, right?"

He turned and she smirked in response then her eyes took on a serious gleam and his face fell. _At least I tried…_

But he was definitely feeling better now that the case had been officially closed with Trevino's death. However, there was still the issue of figuring out what Detective Tobin had been so close to uncovering. She had paid with her life and Jim was adamant that her ghost receive the justice it deserved.

He turned on the overhead fluorescent lights then sat down on one of the barstools in his kitchen and sighed heavily. Jim rubbed his eyes with his free hand and shook his mind loose of the past, then commenced looking through the papers his unwelcome visitors had been so determined to find.

It was with the sounds of rapidly approaching sirens that Jim came across the answer and closed his eyes. Catherine stepped up behind him and placed her hand on his uninjured shoulder to provide the man some comfort.

"What is it?"

Jim's shoulders tensed then sagged at the sound of her voice.

"It's all here, Catherine. She tried to tell me, but I wouldn't listen. For the first time in my life I didn't listen."

"What's all there, Jim? You're not making any sense."

He turned to her with a haunted expression and Catherine gave his shoulder a squeeze.

"Save that for later, Brass, when we're in an official capacity to take a recorded statement."

They both turned to see who had interrupted them and glanced at each other briefly. The rest of the team with Detective Sofia Curtis in the lead had managed to arrive without a noise. Jim realized he had blocked everything out and wasn't aware that they had been observed for a full two minutes before the other detective had spoken up.

Jim stared into Sofia's eyes and nodded his assent. She smiled and stepped further into the kitchen. "What happened out there?"

"It's a long story," Catherine answered.

"Well, I suggest you let the medics check you out, Jim. We can pick this up at the station in a bit, so I'll leave them to it." The blonde detective turned to go then added as an afterthought, "Let me know when you're ready and I'll meet you two there."

"Will you be alright, Jim?" Catherine gave his shoulder another squeeze.

"I'll be fine. Go talk to Grissom, I suspect he's worried."

"Okay. Let me know when you're ready to go."

She walked over to the kitchen entrance as the paramedics rushed past.

"Will do."

**oOoOo**

Sofia had ushered Jim and Catherine into Gil Grissom's office at the criminalist's insistence. He thought the use of an interrogation room wasn't such a good idea and Jim deserved as much privacy as he could get after what he'd just been through. Everything had been set up and they were just awaiting the under-sheriff's arrival; he was intent on asking the questions.

Jim fidgeted in his seat and groaned softly.

"Are you sure you're alright, Jim?"

"It's nothing, just a slight twinge," Jim answered Catherine's concern laced question. "I take it this interview will go on for a few hours?"

"All we need are the bare bones, Captain. Don't worry, we're well aware of the physical state you're in; we won't put any unnecessary strain on you." Sofia opened the door for the under-sheriff to step through.

"Right. A few things before we get started," he addressed everyone in the room. "As per Catherine's phoned in request we have issued a bulletin for the whereabouts of Lieutenant Stacey. But there seems to be a problem."

"Let me guess… you can't find him?" Jim asked. "Try his upscale penthouse suite in Summerlin. It's registered under an alias…"

"How do you know that, Captain Brass?"

"It's in the file," the detective replied, gesturing to the manila folder sitting on the desk. "Detective Tobin was very precise with her notes and observations."

"I'll get on the horn to the patrol officers in the vicinity." Sofia stood and searched through the file then found what she needed and went around the desk to leave. "Excuse me for a…"

"It's no use," Jim interrupted her and everyone looked at him in confusion. "I suspect Stacey is dead, either by his own hand or by one of his associates. I'm leaning towards the latter."

"Explain, Detective Brass." The under-sheriff took a seat on the edge of Grissom's desk.

"I overheard the men who broke into my home discussing how much of a liability he was to their plans. Just like Detective Tobin proved to be."

"How do you explain the other women's murder, then?"

"She happened to be at the wrong place, at the wrong time." Jim shook his head as he answered the question. "Carey was just another expendable human being to these men."

"You seem to have all the answers, Detective Brass."

"I had ample time to skim through the file on my way over here." Jim flexed his fingers and winced. "Care to hear more?"

"Well, this is an official inquiry concerning tonight's events that took place at your residence. I suggest you continue. And, rest assured I'll be looking through this file to make sure you haven't missed a thing."

"Who's the one under suspicion here?" Jim massaged his wounded shoulder in frustration.

"You aren't, if that's what you mean. I just like to have your story corroborated by facts. You did say Detective Tobin took meticulous notes and also made careful observations?"

"Yes. Like I've already stated, it's all in the file."

"All right then, please tell us what you've read so far, Detective Brass."

Jim coughed then cleared his throat. Catherine offered him a cup full of warm tea but he refused and settled in to explain what he'd read in Tobin's notes.

"Detective Erin Tobin had stumbled onto some heavy dealings between Trevino and an anonymous benefactor, who in turn had dealings with one the city's major crime syndicates. She integrated herself among them during an ongoing murder investigation and reported back to her supervisor, Lieutenant Stacey. But she wasn't aware that she was being used and exploited. Stacey was as corrupt as they come and had developed a hidden vendetta against me." Jim took a moment to collect himself and then continued with his narrative, "Several years ago I had arrested his lover on suspicion of murdering another man during a fit of jealousy. He was found guilty and subsequently killed himself in his holding cell pending his transfer to the Nevada State Correctional Facility."

"So what connection do these two men who turned your house upside down this evening have to do with Stacey?"

"I'm getting to that, Sir." Jim sighed in frustration. "Brian Trevino was a hired hand and he was ordered to retrieve those notes because they would put an end to the ongoing murder investigation, implicating himself and the anonymous benefactor… Lieutenant Stacey. One thing I knew about Stacey is that he didn't like getting his hands dirty. Granted, I only knew the man for a very short time but that's one particular quirk that stood out like a sore thumb, whether he investigated a homicide or was doing something else altogether.

"The other man on the other hand was sent along, more than likely to take the fall, should anything go wrong to throw Trevino off his game. But I think he coveted the reputation Stacey had among the syndicate. I suppose Trevino used this hired assassin to his own advantage and offered him more money to rid him of Stacey, Tobin, and then come after me because I stood in his way of getting anywhere near those incriminating notes. Trevino intended on taking over Stacey's position among the gang, that's why he was killed. He, or should I say they weren't counting on me leaving the hospital so soon."

"But they could've ransacked your house looking for these files at any time during your hospital stay." The under-sheriff began pacing the confined office.

"No, they couldn't have," Catherine spoke up and all eyes focused on her. "My presence kept them away. Well, someone had to water your plants, collect your newspaper and feed your fish, Jim."

"Thanks for keeping an eye on the place, Cath." Jim grinned while Grissom and Sofia looked on in amusement.

"…Well, I think that's all for now, Detective. If the department has any more questions—"

"Yes, yes I'll be at home, probably in a painkiller induced haze." Jim rose to his feet and grimaced as a dull ache traveled down the length of his injured arm.

The under-sheriff raised an eyebrow and shook his head as he exited the office with the manila folder tucked under his arm.

Sofia collected her recording equipment and notepad then said over her shoulder, "I'll get a couple of cars out to Summerlin."

"I'll get Sara and Greg and we'll meet you out there, Sofia." Grissom stood and followed her out.

That left Catherine and Jim alone in the Grissom's office. Jim turned then smiled at Catherine and she smiled back.

"It's over," she said.

"Yeah, let the healing begin," Jim added wryly. "It's not over, Cath. It'll never be over, at least not for me."

And with that final comment Jim walked out of the dimly lit office, leaving Catherine to stare at the empty doorway in confusion.

**The End **


End file.
